


The Soldier and The Mage

by julietRichan



Series: Soldier&Mage [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 05:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13451802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julietRichan/pseuds/julietRichan
Summary: Running from the devastation of D.C, the Winter Soldier stumbles upon a cottage and an ally.





	The Soldier and The Mage

**Author's Note:**

> If Bucky seems OOC, it's because he just broke from Hydra.
> 
> AN: Edited 5/4/2018 - changed the pronouns and part of the end to fit Harper better

He doesn’t remember how he came upon the strange house. One moment there was just trees and pain and the noise from the battle still raging behind him, the next there was silence, a clearing, and a small cottage with a garden.

He doesn’t remember breaking in. But somehow finds himself in a long hallway, the back door behind him and the front entryway before him.

He doesn’t remember finding his way to the living room.

He does remember the scuff of bare feet on wood, and the small person, with short light brown hair and large deep green eyes, wrapped in a thick dark robe standing between him and the only exit from the living room.

The person blinks. Then frowns. The Asset knows that frowning is bad, handlers who frowned meant he had done something wrong.

“Stay,” the stranger rasps out. They turn and leave before he can respond.

The Asset doesn’t move.

When the stranger returns, it’s with a strange case in their hand. A pointed look informs the Asset to sit on the couch.

Thinking that he didn’t want to go back to the chair, the Asset does as instructed.

The stranger sets the slim case on the table near where the Asset sits, then – to the Asset’s surprise – kneels down next to his knees. A delicate hand reaches out and just barely touches his right knee. A tingle of… something travels through him. It’s similar to the chair, in that it tingles every nerve, but different in it feeling gentle. Like a caress of a lover or mother, rather than a sledgehammer to the head.

He keeps his eyes open, though he desperately wants to close them and just revel in the new feeling.

If this had happened before the-man-on-the-bridge, the Asset would have killed the stranger then and there. He wasn’t  _supposed_  to feel. He didn’t have likes or dislikes or even wants. Yet here he was, in a strange house with a strange person who made him feel strange things.

The stranger straightens, removing zir hand with the move. Ze hesitate for a moment before flicking zir wrist. At first, the Asset is confused. Then the case next to him opens without anyone touching it. The stranger climbing onto his lap, zir slim legs on either side of his much more muscular ones, distracts him for a moment before he notices the green eyes that seem to be scanning his face. Another flick of a delicate wrist and something flies out of the case and into the waiting hand. When the object is held up, the Asset read “for cuts” in slanting handwriting. When nothing happens, the Asset looks back over at the stranger. One perfect eyebrow is up in a question. Realizing he is being asked if it is alright for the stranger to use the… whatever was in that small container… the Asset gives a sharp nod.

The top of the container is unscrewed, revealing white cream. The stranger sets the lid on zir right leg and dips one finger of zir right hand into the cream. A slow release of breath. The hand with cream on the finger reaches up and gently brushes a small cut on the Assets face.

He has fast healing, but the fight with the-man-from-the-bridge was only two (maybe three) hours ago, so the majority of the damage is still there. The Asset does his best not to think too much about the feeling of the young  _male_  on his lap.

When all the cuts are covered in the cream, the stranger puts the lid back on the container and returns is to the case. Another container, similarly shaped, takes its place. This one says “bruise cream” in the same handwriting.  Once the Asset nods, the stranger repeats the same procedure. This time a more generous helping is rubbed onto his jaw where the-man-from-the-bridge had landed a hard blow.

A finger taps on his chest, then a small tug on the tactical gear he is wearing. Ze want his top off. The Asset lifts his left arm slowly to begin taking the jacket off. The stranger huffs, grabbing the lid to the cream and slipping off of the Asset’s lap. Once the jacket is off, the stranger gestures for the Asset’s shirt to be removed. The stranger had set the cream and lid down in order to help him remove the jacket, and thus sets the jacket on the low table near the couch while the Asset removes his shirt and gloves. Those too join the jacket on the wood table.

When everything is removed the stranger returns to the Asset’s lap, cream in zir hand. His ribs are the first to be treated. Then the still-forming bruise on his left collarbone. The stranger glances at the metal arm, zir lips drawing back at the sight of the scarring. Once the bruises were taken care of, a jar of oil takes the place of the cream. This time ze don’t even ask. His left arm is gently manipulated so that his metal hand rests on the stranger’s shoulder. The stranger leans forward and begins to massage the oil into the shoulder scars. When zir hand nears the shoulder blade, the Asset slides forward so he isn’t touching the back of the couch.

The stranger gives a flash of a smile before returning to zir ministrations.

When ze is done, the jar is sent back to the case and the Asset’s arm removed gently from the stranger’s shoulder. Tightening the robe closer around zirself, the stranger slips off the Asset’s lap and pads softly over to a closet on the far side of the room. Ze returns with a large blanket and an overstuffed pillow. A glance at the couch and back to the Asset inform him he is allowed to sleep there. The couch is comfortable and larger than any other couch the Asset had come across before. It is a welcomed gift.

As much as he was made to be indestructible, even the Asset could grow tired.

The pillow and blanket are set down next to him. A glare at him, then the door, back at him, and then a shake of the head is all the warning the Asset needs.  _Don’t leave_. The Asset nods.  _Understood_.

The stranger turns and walks up the stairs to the second floor without a sound.

 

Morning dawns bright. The Asset shoots to awareness when a small ray of sunlight slips through the closed drapes and lands on his face.

The stranger is leaning against the doorway to the living room, arms crossed loosely over zir skinny chest. Ze jerks zir head to the right, towards where the kitchen and dining nook are. The smell of food finally reaches the Asset. He stands to follow the stranger to the table, returning the blanket that he had kicked off at night to the couch. The stranger pays him no attention but waits until he is at the table before dishing out food for the both of them.

They eat in silence. There are birds, the sounds of the wildlife from the outside barely reaching the inside, but it is still eerily quiet.

The Asset pays it no mind.

After the dishes are put away (by hand, with the Asset helping to dry), the stranger shows him around the house. Two doors are declared off limits, but everything else is free, including the garden. Once the stranger has informed him (in the silent way of glares and shaking head) not to leave the clearing, ze leaves the Asset to his own devices.

Sure that his new handler has a way to keep track of him, the Asset pokes around his new cage.

There is a closet that has a doorknob that when you turn it, it changes what is in the closet. The wardrobe in the bedroom opposite the door he is not allowed in is full of clothes that are his size. The mirror, in the bathroom just off the bedroom, informed him that he should shave – verbally. His new handler’s name is Harper. Or, that’s what the door on the second floor has written down the center of it in gold lettering. The fridge is filled with food while the cupboards have strange herbs in even stranger jars. The front porch is covered in runes and the wind chimes don’t move even as the Asset’s hair is ruffled by a breeze.

Noon rolls around. Handler Harper stops by to briefly watch him clean what weapons he still had on him after the fight in the living room before padding over to the kitchen and making food. When the food is done, The Handler clears zir throat to get the Asset’s attention. The Asset joins zir at the table and eats what is put on his plate.

This time he is not required to help with the dishes. The Handler just waves zir hand and the dishes clean themselves.

The Asset is left alone once more. He spends this time outside in the strange garden with the flowers that make music when they move. After a few hours, The Handler joins him in the garden. They don’t speak, but the Asset can tell that this time something is different. When the sun begins to set, The Handler leaves to make food. The Asset follows. He sits at the table, watching his new handler move around.

He will never know what made him speak, but when the Handler begins cleaning up the mess from cooking while the food is in the oven, the Asset says, “Handler.”

The Handler looks up, blinking in surprise. “Are…” Zir voice is hoarse, as if ze rarely used it, “you telling or asking me?”

The Asset frowns, “You are handler.”

“Then who are you?”

“Asset.”

A raised eyebrow. Then there is a strange sensation in his mind. But it is so much like the tingling from the night before that the Asset doesn’t fight it. When the sensation recedes, the Handler frowns but nods.

Nothing more is said that night.

The Asset sleeps on the couch once more, a knife under his pillow.

He wakes slowly this time. The familiarity of the surrounding and the ever-present feeling of safety both help with the more natural rise to wakefulness. When he opens his eyes, it is to soft dawn light. The Handler is not up yet, so the Asset just sits on the couch and waits.

It is almost relaxing, watching the cream wall opposite the window turn golden by the sun through the curtains.

“G’mornin,” a familiar rough sounding voice says. The Asset turns, seeing The Handler leaning against the doorway. “I… um… we should talk.”

The Asset nodded, standing.

“Food first.”

So they eat.

The Asset once more dries dishes and The Handler washes. While they work, The Handler talks.

“I… I’ve been alone for quite some time. So I never really spoke all that much before you arrived. I had to find a potion to help me repair my voice before I stopped sounding like the living dead.” Ze sighs, “By now you have probably noticed this house isn’t… normal. I’m a mage, this was my uncle’s cottage before he died and left it to me. I didn’t know it was cursed until I arrived here.”

The Asset hums in acknowledgment.

“You can’t leave. I’ve tried many times. You just get sent back to the garden. Honestly, it’s frustrating, but time is normal, so that’s good. There is nothing worse than living in a cottage while time passes unknowingly around you.”

“Can you get messages out?” The Asset asks, surprising both himself and The Handler.

Ze doesn’t drop the plate, but it’s a near thing, “N-no. But I do get the daily newspaper. Both the magical and mundane one.” The Asset nods. “How did you get here?”

Shrugging the Asset tells his Handler what he remembers. From the fight with the-man-on-the-bridge to falling in the water and helping the man out, to stumbling his way into the clearing.

“Huh. Do you need your arm looked at? I’m not very good with electronics, but I’m sure the house has a way to scan your arm and give me a diagram or something.”

The Asset glances around warily. What was this house capable of?

“It provides whatever I need, it doesn’t read your mind. You aren’t magical, so it’s not tied to you,” The Handler explains. “And yes, I can read your thoughts.”

When had this happened? The Asset thinks.

“Dinner, when you declared me Handler,” The Handler replies. “I can’t pick up anything but what you think about me or the house. So, your thoughts are yours. I won’t establish a deeper link unless you say so.”

Already knowing this is a far better situation than his previous handlers, the Asset agrees to the basic link.

“You need a name. I don’t mind if you have to call me handler, but I refuse to call you asset. It may be what you are, but that is not a name.” The Handler hands him the last fork to dry, “From what I gathered from my initial touch of your mind, you are polyonymous. A man with many names.”

The Asset knows he has had aliases for some of his missions but doesn’t remember them. Could Handler see past the block in his memories?

“Barely. We can work on that after you pick a name.” A sheet of paper hovers in front of the Asset. On it is a list of names.

His names.

 _James. Bucky. Yakov._ _Vasily. Soldat._ The list goes on, ending with _Winter Soldier_.

“Pick one. Knock on my workshop door when you have found one you can live with me calling you.” The Handler leaves.

The Asset moves to the living room to read the list and try the names.

 _Bucky_. The-man-on-the-bridge called him that. But it didn’t feel right. Just like  _James_.

 _Yakov_ … While the Asset knew it was James in Russian, it felt more right than the English name. He immediately rejects the other names. Those are names from  _them_. He no longer has to serve them, he is no longer their slave to command. He is The Handler’s now.

It’s been over an hour since The Handler had left him. The Asset – Yakov now – goes to the door on the first floor that is off limits and knocks.

 _Be right there._  A voice in his head says. Yakov knows it is The Handler. A minute later the door opens and The Handler smiles at him.

“You got a name?”

“Yakov.”

“Ya-kuv?” The Handler says slowly.

“Y _ak_ **o** v,” He says again.

“Yakov?” The Asset nods. “Alright, let’s get you settled into your room. You found it yesterday, so grab your stuff and meet me there.” The Handler heads upstairs.

Yakov grabs his tactical vest, gloves, and weapons. The room is the only other door on the second floor. Now, like the door opposite it, it says “Yakov” in the same style down the middle of the door.

“Do you like it?” The Handler asks.

The Asset can tell ze is nervous by the way ze shifts zir weight and cross zir arms. He doesn’t know why ze would be nervous, but this new Handler has already proven to be strange. He gives what he hopes is a pleasant smile (he hasn’t smiled in a long time) and replies with a simple “Yes”.

It obviously is the correct answer because zir smile seems to brighten the hallway. Or maybe it did, one never knew with magic. Not that he had much experience with magic.

“Yakov?” The Handler asks.

The Asset – Yakov, his name is Yakov – realizes that ze had been calling his name for a while, “Sorry.”

The Handler waves it off, “Not a problem. You seemed to drift, you alright?”

“I am at full mobility.”

“That… Never mind,” The Handler sighs, “Let’s get your room in order.”  

The Handler shows him how to use the closet, and how to mute the mirror before handing him another sheet of paper. “Here is a list of things to do before breakfast since you seem to wake up before I do.”

The – Yakov – looks over the list.  _Take a light run around the clearing, work-out, shower, meditate in the garden, set table for breakfast_ … they are simple, easy, tasks that could be completed before The Handler even wakes. “Meditate?”

“You’ve never meditated before?”

Yakov shakes his head, “No time.”

The Handler snorts, “Till we break whatever curse is on this house, we have all the time in the world.” Ze shakes zir head, strands of bangs falling over zir face, “Ach, come on. The sun is still high. You don’t want to meditate at night, gets too cold to sit still.”

 

Weeks pass. Yakov wakes each morning at dawn to run around the clearing. In his room, there is a metal bar (hanging between the wardrobe and the wall) that The Handler had set up for him a few days prior, and after pushing himself as far as he can go with pushups, sit-ups, and pull-ups, he takes a long hot shower. The Handler may not have use for him now, but that doesn’t mean he can fully relax. After the shower, he sits in the garden and meditates like The Handler had taught him. Breathe in tranquility and release sorrow and pain. Focus on the sounds around him before turning his focus inward. Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to repair his fractured mind.

Some things he needs The Handler’s help with.

Some things he wishes he didn’t remember.

Some days are hard, but The Handler is always there just when he thinks that the memories will drown him.

The Handler becomes his Anchor.  And somewhere from one week to the next, The Handler turns into Harper.

It’s only the really bad days that Harper goes back to Handler. They both hate those days.

They train together… or, well, Yakov teaches Harper self-defense and basic hand-to-hand combat. Harper is a fast learner, and ze quickly moves up to learn how to fight against blades. Soon the two are sparring for hours in the garden after breakfast. Because of zir magic, Harper is able to keep up with the almost Super Soldier for the majority of their sparring. But Yakov has been fighting for nearly 60 years, and always makes sure to surprise Harper at least once during their fights.

“By the time we break out of here, I’ll be able to fight just as well as you!” Harper jokes one morning as they walk back inside the house.

“You are getting better,” he acknowledges, “But I doubt we will be here that long.”

Harper sighs, zir arms crossing protectively around zir ribcage, “You think so?”

Yakov looks down at the small mage. Harper only reaches his shoulder and is slimmer in build, only just recently becoming more muscular because of Yakov’s insistence of the training. But at this moment, though, ze looks even smaller than when he had met zir.

Touching Harper was one thing that Yakov found he liked very much. There was a tingling sensation whenever their skin met and he was addicted to it. So it didn’t even take a thought for Yakov to slide his right arm around Harper’s shoulders, pulling zir close.

“I have faith in you,” He says simply.  

Harper chuckles, “You have more faith in me than I do in myself.”

They make lunch together. Harper had been insistent that ze could cook by zirself, but Yakov wanted to be able to help around the house. They weren’t messy people, the two of them, so there wasn’t much to pick up around the cottage, and Harper wasn’t sure how zir magic would affect Yakov’s mechanical arm so the lab was still off limits. Therefore helping with the meals was really the only thing he could help with.

Yakov is, surprisingly, a good cook. He thinks it has something to do with his pre-Soldier days (most of which are hard to remember without Harper pulling them to the forefront), but perhaps it is Harper’s teaching.

Most likely it’s his odd desire to impress Harper.   

He makes a mental note to meditate on his feelings for Harper. It wouldn’t do to pursue a relationship with zir if the feelings were just from the fact that Harper is the first person to help him since breaking free of his previous handlers. The-man-on-the-bridge doesn’t count as he only broke the initial program, it was Harper who removed his triggers and all the past programming.

“Yakov?” Harper calls out, head tipped in concern.

Yakov shakes his head, loose pieces of hair falling in his face before he shoves it back with his right hand, “’M alright, just thinking.”

“Okay,” Harper shrugs. Ze returns to setting the table, “You want me to cut your hair? It seems like it would be a bother when you don’t have it pulled back for our sparring.”

Yakov thinks for a moment while he plates the chicken and mushroom risotto. “I like it long, but a trim would be nice.”

“Not wanting to go back to short hair?” Harper laughs.

Yakov shakes his head, “I don’t remember that much, but I like when you run your hands through my hair.”

They both freeze. He hadn’t meant to say so much. He didn’t want Harper to know he was awake when ze slipped into his room after a nightmare (how Harper even knew he had those could only be explained by magic) and ran zir slim fingers through his hair until he fell back asleep.

After a long tense moment, Harper ducks zir head and turns away. Ze isn’t, however, fast enough to prevent Yakov from seeing zir cheeks flush a beautiful rosy color.

“I like running my hands through your hair too,” Harper mumbles. Yakov smiles, not bothering to hide it when Harper turns around. “So… uh, just a trim then?”

With a nod, Yakov sits to eat, Harper only a few seconds behind him.

 

Another six days pass before Yakov acts on his feelings for Harper. He genuinely likes the quiet mage and knows that once they break out of their shared confinement in the clearing that he will stay by Harper’s side.

“You know, in three months you never once asked about my gender,” Harper muses as they sit on the swing on the front porch. Ze is curled under Yakov’s left arm, feet tucked under a blanket.   

“Three months…” Yakov hums, time had passed by so quickly. “It was never important.”

“But you know that I’m-?”

“Male, yes.”  

“I wasn’t always.”

“Alright.” He leans down and kisses the light haired mage on the top of zir head.

Harper curls closer to Yakov’s side, “What pronouns do you use for me?”

“I call you ze,” Yakov replies, “Would you prefer something different?”

Harper shrugs, “I may be male, but I actually prefer neutral terms. I like you calling me ze. It’s… nice.”

Yakov takes a breath before gently taking Harper’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Harper leans into the contact and lets Yakov guide zir face up. It is only a press of lips, timid and soft, but stars flash behind Yakov’s eyelids.

He hadn’t realized his eyes had closed. When he opens them, Harper’s eyes are still closed, blissful look on zir face.

Suddenly Harper jerks back as if burned. Yakov releases zir face, giving the younger man room. “I-we… we can’t.”

Yakov frowns, “Why not?”

“I… you think you owe me something. I can’t – won’t – let you do this. Not like this.”

Taking hold of Harper’s face once more, Yakov turns zir face towards him. “I owe you everything, but I don’t owe you my heart.” Harper’s deep emerald eyes grow large. “I give that freely, by my own will.” He leans down and kisses the side of Harper’s perfect pink lips. “By my life or death, I swear to protect and love you.”

Harper snorts, “I shouldn’t have let you watch those movies.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“You just like the fact that I compared you to Aragorn.”

Yakov hums, “I will admit to that, yes.” Suddenly an idea comes to him, “Read my mind.”

“What?” Harper blinks, “Why?”

“So you know for sure that I’m not under any obligation to love you more than a friend.”

For a moment Yakov thinks Harper won’t do it, but then the familiar tingle in his mind appears. After having worked with the mage for nearly three months, Yakov knows how to lower the few mental barriers he’s been able to build since Harper started teaching him how to protect his mind.

“Oh,” is all Harper says when ze pulls out of Yakov’s mind. Then ze surges forward and crashes zir lips to Yakov’s.

Chuckling, Yakov pulls zir closer, flesh hand lightly tugging on short strands of light brown hair. Familiar hands slide up and into his own hair and he growls when they tug at the recently trimmed hair.

Harper pulls back so zir lips are just brushing Yakov’s, “I love you too.”   

  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! Should I continue or leave it where I'm at? If anyone would like to pick this up, just send me the link to your work. 
> 
> Kudos and Comments are greatly appreciated


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